Another Door Opens
by ShutUpAndPull
Summary: Just having a bit of fun with an alternate Rick Castle/Kate Beckett first meeting. *now complete*
1. Chapter 1

**Another Door Opens**

**Chapter 1**

Richard Castle wasn't a man particularly accustomed to failure. Whether through luck, intervention, or, on occasion, actual hard work, he'd managed to achieve an admirable amount of success in his life for someone of his relatively young age, and he enjoyed flaunting it. But much like a blind man at the wheel of a speeding car, when he did go astray, when he did stumble, he always seemed to do so in the extreme.

Rick was most certainly on a roll in the stumble department of late, dominoes falling hard and fast in both professional and personal arenas of his life. Over the past six months, his second marriage (incidentally the more functional of the two) had imploded, his newly-teenage daughter, Alexis, had moved clear across the country to live with her mother, and his publishing house, Black Pawn, had opted not to renew his contract due to lackluster sales of his most recent mystery novel. In point of fact, aside from an enviable bank account balance and a penthouse loft most SoHo-philes would give their right arms for, there wasn't much left in his life for him to lose, and as a man approaching 40 years, he wasn't at all sure how he was supposed to feel about that- or, for that matter, how the hell he was supposed to go about changing it.

On this particularly sobering morning, after another night of clock-watching as opposed to sleeping, Rick sat opposite his wife's three attorneys at an absurdly gaudy conference table in the law offices of Newman, Goldsmith & Shore, their pretentiously monogramed pen in his grip as he prepared to sign his John Hancock to his life's second set of official divorce papers. And while he felt a modicum of relief after months, perhaps years, of discontent, it was quickly thrust aside by a surge of melancholy and regret followed closely by an unrelenting voice in his head shouting: _So_, _now what_?

His marriage was gone: domino number one. Alexis was gone: domino number two. Black Pawn Publishing was gone: domino number three.

Three strikes and Richard Castle was out.

But he did keep the pen.

xxxx

Rick's longtime attorney offered him a ride back to the loft after the still-stinging slap in the face of the morning meeting, but he politely declined, electing instead to walk, despite the bitter cold of the late-January Friday. It couldn't hurt him at that point, he said. His wife's- his _ex_-wife's grin at that garish mahogany table moments ago had already successfully accomplished that.

He pushed forward along the crowded city streets, a man alone amongst hundreds of like-travelers. His eyes watered relentlessly, but his tall, solid body pressed on, despite its irregular, involuntary angle, the unforgiving wind a more stalwart adversary than he anticipated when he agreed to go it on foot.

He came to an abrupt stop behind a crowd of bundled strangers awaiting a clear path to cross the street, and he seized the opportunity to finally look around and get his bearings. He had no idea how long he'd been walking or how far he'd gone. Honestly, he didn't much care. He didn't have anywhere to be. He didn't have anything to do. No one was waiting.

The throng around him eventually dissipated and moved on, leaving him alone on the corner looking every bit a lost and lonely tourist. His wandering eyes landed on a nearby store window, a bookstore window, as it so happened, and he stepped slowly toward the frost-coated glass, nearly colliding along the way with several people striding along the sidewalk with purpose. They all had somewhere to be. That wasn't Rick's world. He hadn't even seen them.

He couldn't feel his nose anymore. The day was that cold. He had it nearly pressed against the glass of the very grand and immensely popular bookstore, the warmth of his breath mixed with the frigid air causing the window to drift in and out of fog. And there they sat, as part of an elaborate display for anyone passing by to see. For the world to see. For him to see. Four Derrick Storm novels were arranged amongst other books that'd apparently outgrown their welcome- above them a sign marked _Clearance_.

Within the physical manifestation of a final and exaggerated exhale of disappointment, he drew an 'X' with his finger and walked away.

xxxx

Minutes later, hours later, Rick wasn't certain which, when he'd lost virtually all discernible feeling in his bare fingers, he ducked into a small, out-of-the-way coffee shop, one he'd never heard of or noticed before. It was quiet, perhaps a result of the hour, whatever that was, and free of the buzz of activity that permeated the popular establishment he usually frequented.

A friendly, young girl with striking red hair and an apron welcomed him robustly from behind a distant counter, and it both surprised and warmed him. He hadn't experienced much in the way of kindness on this Friday. Today it would be the little things that he'd have to hold tight to.

He approached her with a modest grin- all he could seem to put together in earnest- and placed an order for a black coffee and a slice of homemade pound cake, the latter displayed elegantly on the counter practically begging for his money. The girl seemed proud of his selection somehow, and a bit envious, which he found charming, and she invited him to make himself comfortable in any of the oversized chairs sprinkled about the shop while she prepared his edibles.

He chose the tall, blue chair in the corner. It was the most masculine of the bunch, he thought, though it really didn't much matter, and the one with the best view of the near-empty sidewalk beyond the glass of the front window. He watched and waited, but no one passed by. It was an odd feeling, millions of people in the city and not one of them walking past.

Rick loved to watch people, especially when they weren't aware of his prying eyes. It was a fundamental part of his craft- observation. He wondered where they'd all gone. If they, too, were hiding from the day's unforgiving winter chill in out-of-the-way coffee shops. If they, too, had nowhere better to be.

His phone vibrated in his pocket as a child and her father finally wandered by, hand in hand. He had no proof of their relation, of course, but he thought instantly of a young Alexis, remembering his walks with her to the park to go ice skating on days much like this one. "Hello, Mother," he answered, as he watched the pair continue down the sidewalk, imagining their smiles of pure joy that he couldn't actually see, but that he nonetheless projected onto them with a pang of bitterness and envy.

"You were supposed to call me when you were through, Richard," she scolded, without any greeting whatsoever. "It's been hours. How are you feeling, darling?"

Honesty wasn't always the best policy with Martha Rodgers. Sometimes, especially today, he just didn't have it in him.

"I feel fine, Mother. I'm just glad it's over with." Though he still wasn't sure whether or not he was glad or if he should be. "If I never have to deal with another lawyer again for the rest of my life, it'll be too soon."

"Bloodsuckers, all," she concurred, empathetic from too much personal experience. "Let's not give them another moment of our time, shall we? Where are you now? Will I see you here later for dinner?"

He had no idea where he was now, though he understood his mother's question wasn't posed metaphorically, but rather literally. "I'm just grabbing a coffee. I didn't have time this morning and I've been paying for it. And, yes, I should be home later. I'll pick up something or we can order in."

No wife. No daughter. No job. Dinner at home with his mother on a Friday night. Again.

He glanced around the shop with its colorful décor, its bookshelves, its paintings and knickknacks and homemade pound cake. Maybe they'd let him move in- a fresh start. He could ask the lovely redhead, maybe. "My coffee's ready, Mother. I'll see you in a bit."

"So long, darling. Look both ways before you cross the street."

He adored her. Truly.

"Here you are, sir." The pleasantness in her voice soothed him, yet again, as she presented him with his coffee and cake. "If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be right over there." She was flirting, and not so subtly at that. He was flattered, of course. And old enough to be her father.

"Thanks very much…" He looked around her apron but she wasn't wearing a name tag.

"Oh," she sputtered, realizing what he was searching for. "Jenna. My name's Jenna."

"Well, thanks very much, Jenna. You have the kindest voice I've heard all day."

She thanked him demurely and returned to her post. He knew she'd be back.

xxxx

The coffee arrived in a large ceramic mug, not hidden within impersonal white cardboard, and Rick wrapped his hands around its shape gratefully, the cold still clinging to his fingers as if it had nowhere else to go. The front door pushed opened sporadically, and he found amusement in it each time, the few who came through it sighing thankfully for the refuge from the elements.

He pulled a random book from the shelf behind him, the shop, as a sign nearby told him, working on a system of trade: _Take a book. Leave a book_. He delighted in the idea, and he found himself imagining where the book in his hand might've lived before it found itself a home on shelf number four inside The Exchange. That was the coffee shop's name- it all made sense now. He contemplated getting up and wandering around to see if anyone had left his boy, Derrick Storm, amongst the other orphans to gather dust, but he decided he was afraid of what he might find.

He peeked at his watch after Jenna's second trip over to his table for a mug refill. He suspected her generosity wasn't usual company policy, but he was perfectly happy with the reason to stay- endless caffeine pushed by a smitten barista worked just fine in that capacity.

It was late afternoon and he had no idea exactly how long he'd been sitting in the masculine blue chair, but he'd managed to read over 100 pages of the Michael Connolly novel he'd plucked from the shelf earlier. He pondered calling his poker buddy, Connolly, and giving him shit about his story's clichéd plot and contrived characters, but then he remembered he no longer had a publisher for his own clichéd and contrived stories, so he abandoned the idea, humbled, in short order.

The bell attached to the front door chimed again then as he shook his head with chagrin, and he looked up as he'd done each time it happened- more distracted than interested. He caught sight of the heels first, as red as a fire engine, head-in-the-clouds high, and wildly impractical given the current condition of the city's sidewalks and streets. They were attached to a pair of legs that, from what he could see, didn't seem to require their services, and yet, at the same time, they appeared crafted just for them.

His attention jerked upward, pulled from its initial journey, as the woman snapped a "No! You can't!" into her cell phone and ended the call with an emphatic tap of her thumb. She dropped the device into the pocket of her charcoal grey wool coat and pulled the matching hat from her head. Loose waves of chestnut hair settled across her upper back as she moved toward a waiting Jenna at the counter, who smiled despite the likelihood it might very well go unreciprocated.

_What couldn't the person on the other end of the line do or have or be?_

Rick loved observing people. It's who he was. And now he wanted desperately to see the red-heeled, chestnut-haired woman's face, to imagine her story, to thread together a narrative that suited only her.

No, this push of the door was different. This wasn't distracted. This was interested.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Rick was one of only a small handful of customers in The Exchange when the woman and her unrestrained voice made their remarkable entrance. Heads turned from all corners of the otherwise tranquil shop, the commotion clearly uncommon and certainly unexpected in that tiny slice of the world at 4:17 p.m. on an average Friday afternoon.

Within seconds, though, it was as if she'd been some kind of a shared dream, as if she hadn't happened to the room at all, attentions swiftly reverting back to idle chitchat and mugs and dusty paperbacks. His city had the attention span of a two-year-old, Rick stewed silently, as he watched each of his fellow patrons drop the tall, spectacularly-shod visitor from their radar. Unlike them, however, he wasn't willing or able to look away.

He observed furtively from his position by the front window as Jenna took down the stranger's order with the same pleasant demeanor she'd shown him earlier. From where he sat, though he couldn't actually hear any of their conversation, he was able to read the barista's lips with fair enough success to piece together that an apology for the raucous entrance had been offered and accepted, and he couldn't help but smile about it, as though the women's truce had brought some kind of direct relief to his own life somehow.

After a few moments together, Jenna pointed indiscriminately around the shop and the woman stepped away from the counter, hat and wallet in hand. She made a visual sweep of the room before heading toward an unoccupied forest green colored chair positioned directly across the room from Rick, which she dropped into with a soundless yet perceptible thud. She unbuttoned her coat and twisted herself free of the scarf she had wrapped around her, looking most relieved to be in a place that no longer required either.

Rick tried not to stare. At least that's what he told himself, that he was trying. But in actuality, on an effort scale, he was putting more energy into remembering that as a human being he needed to breathe in and out in order to survive. And who ever thought about _that_? Shameless, yes- but in his mind, entirely her fault.

With her outerwear flung over the back of the chair and her other belongings discarded on the table at her side, she unlocked her phone with the swipe of a finger, and as the screen lit up, she immediately rolled her eyes at whatever she'd found waiting for her.

"It's been that kind of a day," Rick called out from across the way, with an understanding deeper than he truly cared to expound upon. _What a dumb thing to say_. He really hoped she wouldn't ask.

Honestly, he'd had no intention of saying anything to her at all. He was merely supposed to be an observer. But now that he could see her face, with its angular jaw and defined cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes and luminescent skin (he could go on), what he'd intended was suddenly of no consequence.

"Oh, yeah," she replied, caught somewhat off guard, "it has." She pressed the power button on her phone and slid it onto the table and out of reach, locking eyes with Rick for several beats before Jenna approached with her order. "Thank you, Jenna," she said softly. "This looks really delicious."

"And it tastes really delicious too. Ask _him_, he can tell you." Jenna turned toward Rick, who hadn't yet taken his eyes off of the newcomer. "He ordered a piece of it earlier. Great minds, I suppose. Anyway, I hope you like it. Let me know if I can get you anything else."

"The pound cake, huh?" Rick asked, after Jenna had gone. "I fell for it too."

"I couldn't help myself. I haven't eaten all day. My mom would be so proud. And more than happy to use it against me, somehow," the woman chuckled, taking her fork in hand.

Rick noticed her shoes again. He couldn't help it- the shiny red leather set off against the deep green of the chair's fabric. She looked like Christmas. He loved Christmas.

"Well, your secret is safe with me. What happens in The Exchange stays in The Exchange."

She held out her fork, piled high with cake, as if to toast his kindness, and then swallowed down the first bite with a hum of gratification. She looked up and Rick was still watching her, seemingly awaiting her verdict, though she was certain the sound her body had just made already spoke volumes.

"Wow, I may never eat again. I'm not sure food can get any better than this and I'd really like to go out on a high note."

He laughed out loud. "That's kind of morbid. I like it."

She cut another bite and he picked up Connelly's book from the table, realizing he should probably leave her in peace to enjoy her meal. He knew full well he wouldn't be able to focus on a single word with her sitting there, but he dove into the charade as best he could.

She really did look like Christmas.

xxxx

A palpable hush fell over the shop and lingered, painfully so, the temptation to speak with her again buzzing inside him like an active beehive. It sounded so dramatic, even as it rolled around in his head, the notion that life had closed one door in his life today and then opened another. Literally. Opened a door.

But there she was, sitting right over there, a distance measured in just a few feet, looking like Christmas, and feeling to him like some kind of gift from the fickle universe. _From whom? For what?_ _Why now?_ It was torturous, the realization that he may never know.

The grey day had turned dark with the arrival of winter's early evening, and Rick knew his mother would be waiting. He'd promised her dinner when they'd spoken earlier, and Martha Rodgers wasn't a woman deserving of broken promises. He'd taken up residence in the big, blue chair long enough, and though his leg muscles tingled with the peculiar ache of sleep, he stood and returned the borrowed paperback to its home on the shelf behind him. He hadn't brought anything to trade for it, so he didn't dare take it with him. He'd already figured it all out anyway. Connelly deserved such shit for that.

Jenna had long since cleared away his dishes, and he turned and raised his hand to her in a wave of thanks for allowing him to outstay his own perceived welcome. She acknowledged him with a prolonged, coquettish smile as he buttoned up his coat in futile preparation for the wall of frigid air that, no doubt, still awaited him beyond the protection of the shop's glass.

"I think she likes you," the spellbinding stranger murmured, as Rick stepped toward the door.

"I'm sorry?" He'd heard her, but asking meant more words, more conversation, more of her. Shameless.

"Jenna and Richard sittin' in a tree," she sang, in the taunting voice of a young girl on a school bus, while trying her best to hold back a smile that was clearly one millisecond from bursting free.

He almost missed it. It almost didn't register, what she'd said, his focus entirely drawn to the delicate shine of her lips.

She'd said his name.

"Wait. How did you-"

"I know things. I see things. I read things. Some of the things I know and see and read are _your_ things, Richard Castle. You're quite a successful mystery novelist, you know. Does it really surprise you all that much to find out I know who you are?"

He cleared his throat in an effort to buy himself time, having no idea how he should play this out. "Well, thank you for telling me so, Mrs…" _Please correct me. Please correct me._ His brain screamed.

"Beckett. _Miss_ Beckett."

_Thank you. Thank you. _

"Well, Miss Beckett, thank you. It's always nice to meet a fan." Flattered, that was his decided move. And sincere. Women liked sincere, he thought he recalled, from what now seemed like a past life.

"Oh, I never said I was a fan, Mr. Castle. I merely said I knew who you were. Don't let that writer's imagination get the better of you."

Who was this woman and how the hell was it he found himself missing her already?

"Touché, Miss Beckett."

His eyes drifted once again to her shoes. He'd lost count of how many times that had happened. "Now, may I ask _you_ something? I mean, it seems only fair since you seem to know a little something about me already." He stepped toward her, the idea of walking out the door now even less appealing than it had been a few minutes ago. He leaned his body against the frame of the bookshelf next to her, perhaps closer than he should be, though she hadn't yet objected.

"Will my answer end up in one of your books? I'm just wondering how many adjectives I should try to throw in." She smiled broadly, entirely pleased with herself.

"Not a fan, but rather an editor. I see. Everyone's a critic, huh?" _Note to self: use fewer adjectives_. He shook his head with hyperbolic displeasure. "Now then, back to my question, since you've so utterly failed to distract me from it: how in the world do you wear _those_ things in _this_ weather and not break that lovely neck of yours?"

She followed the angle of his pointed finger down to the red patent leather of her stilettos and scrutinized them, as though she suddenly found herself baffled by the very same phenomenon. "My shoes? Really? That's what you've been dying to ask me this whole time? You've been holding on to that one for over an hour."

So much for clandestine.

"I'm sure you can understand my hesitation to approach given how you came in here earlier. I've already been dismissed by one woman today. My ego's in a very fragile state, you see."

"And, is this a common occurrence in your life? Multiple women in a day?"

Rick altered his footing nervously, an awkward sound that surely wasn't any word in the English language spilling from his slack-jawed mouth. "I-um-_no_. Definitely not common, no," he chuckled. "I actually signed my divorce papers this morning, so…"

Her eyebrows arched upward as the pieces fell into place. "Ah, so that's what you meant earlier by 'that kind of a day.' I'm sorry to hear that, Richard Castle."

"Please, call me Rick, and thank you, but you don't need to be sorry. It's better this way in the long run. And in the short run, too, I suppose. Luckily there's a bright side. I'm done with bloodsucking lawyers for the time being." With his fingers, he brushed aside the hair dangling across his forehead. "Anyway, enough about all of that. Those shoes of yours, tell me."

She uncrossed her legs and stretched them out in front of her, mere inches between the narrow point of her toes and his left shin. "Well, Rick- and please call me Kate, by the way- I suppose, like anything else one does with skill and precision, it simply took practice. And, for better or worse, my profession requires that I look a certain part, and I've learned to play it. And I've learned to love it. Being a woman can be…quite enjoyable."

Great. Now he had a million follow-up questions, and time for just about none of them, his mother, no doubt, impatiently waiting for him at the loft. But, dammit, he needed to know more. He wanted to know so much more. "I'm intrigued. What is it you do, exactly?"

"Funny you should ask, Rick. Actually, I'm one of those bloodsucking lawyers you seem to have such affection for."

_Shit_.

"Well, I couldn't have written a better ending to our meet-cute if I tried, Kate," he bemoaned sarcastically. He muscled his body away from the bookshelf and stood up straight, fidgeting with the buttons of the coat he'd already secured. "You'll have to forgive my mouth. Sometimes it knows not what it speaks."

Kate rose slowly from her chair, her eyes on him, her near-equal height causing his pulse to quicken. "Don't worry about it, Rick. I've met plenty of those a-holes in my day." She turned and reached for her coat still draped over the colorful chair. "But, since you did sort of insult me, albeit in a roundabout way, maybe I should give you a chance to make it up to me."

"Oh? I mean, oh, yes, of course. That would be the gentlemanly thing for me to do." _But I have to go home now to my mother_, _dammit_. "How about coffee, here, say Sunday afternoon?"

She shuffled through her purse and pulled out a business card. "Maybe we can find a place to grab a more grown-up drink," she said, handing him her number. "Besides, I'm not sure Jenna, over there, could handle seeing us together. She looks ready to boil my rabbit, if you know what I mean."

"We certainly wouldn't want that." He looked in the direction of the counter. "She's a sweet kid. Maybe I should bring two books next time, just in case."

"Couldn't hurt," Kate agreed with a soft smile.

"Okay, so, I should really be going, finally, but it's been a pleasure, Kate. Thank you for…your shoes," he bumbled, kicking himself inside for saying something so utterly ridiculous. "I'll, uh- I'll call you tomorrow and we'll make a plan to be grown-ups."

"Do that." She slid her purse up her arm and onto her shoulder. "Oh, and Rick, just so you know, I'm most definitely a fan."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Not long after exchanging goodbyes with Kate at the coffee shop, Rick came through his penthouse loft's front door as though he was floating on a cloud, as though his blood was electrically charged and pumping through his body with a buzz it seemed might never dissipate. It defied his understanding, that he was now experiencing such profound sensation, after he'd spent most of the day in a state of virtual numbness, little of which, unfortunately for him, he was able to attribute to the frigid January weather.

"Hello, darling!" his mother called out from behind the rim of a glass of freshly poured wine, as he set his keys on the table inside the door and peeled off his coat. "Come on, slow poke! Go pour yourself a glass and warm up so we can discuss dinner, all right?"

"Geez, Mother, I _just_ walked through the door and I barely have my coat off. Surely in the Texas-sized refrigerator over there, you could've found something to snack on while you waited so you weren't ready to pounce the second I got here."

Oh_. Snack. _

His mind drifted back to the afternoon's should-definitely-be-illegal-to-taste-so-good pound cake and then to Kate, and he felt the corners of his eyes crinkle as the resulting grin traveled up his cheeks like a rolling wave. He already wanted it to be tomorrow so badly. He'd wanted it since the second he walked away from her. He wanted to run straight into his bedroom, fall into the mess of covers with his clothes on, and wake up when it was Saturday. The remaining hours of this day were of no use to him.

He stood there, still, in his entryway, his fingertip gliding along the subtle texture of the embossed business card he'd slid into the front pocket of his pants at the coffee shop. It was just a few more hours. That was all. He was a grown man. He could manage it. He could handle a few hours, surely.

Maybe. Hopefully.

Christ, it felt like junior high all over again. It felt ridiculous.

It felt amazing.

"You can save those wisecracks for your next book, dear boy," his mother chided with a stern point of finger, interrupting his brief reverie. "_I_ happen to have plans later this evening and merely wish to dine with my son before I go. So indulge me and grab the damn menus, would you please?"

He wandered toward the sofa with apologetic eyes and leaned in, kissed her sweetly on the cheek. "I'm sorry, Mother. Of course, I'll go grab us the menus." He really was sorry. His brain was on fire.

"You've had yourself a day today, Richard, I understand. But, now that you're here and I have the proper equipment in hand, I can toast merrily to your being free of those bloodsucking lawyers!" she trumpeted enthusiastically, a celebratory sip of California red sliding down her throat.

"Right, yeah," he said meekly, pulling a stack of paper from the drawer in the kitchen. "Free from the lawyers." And he was. Mostly.

But he wouldn't tell her about Kate the Bloodsucking Lawyer yet. He didn't even know what the hell he'd say if he did. _She was tall. She looked like Christmas. She knew my name. She liked pound cake._

He hardly knew anything about her. Well, except for the way she made him feel. Already. But he'd sound like an absolute fool if he went on about that so soon, no matter how much his _everything_ was dying to.

No, not yet. Kate would remain only for him for the time being. Or at least until tomorrow, when he'd surely manage to convince her to fall madly in love with him, and then he'd be forced to come clean to his mother about who the beautiful creature sipping morning coffee in his button-down shirt was. At least until then.

"So, what's it going to be, darling, hmmm? The clock is ticking."

He sat beside her on the sofa, thumbing through all the menus, giving attention to none. "Yeah, just not fast enough," he muttered aloud, entirely without intention.

"Wisecracks!" she snapped, and gulped down another sip of wine.

xxxx

"Kate, hi, it's Rick, Richard-Castle," he stammered inelegantly, when she finally answered on her phone's fourth ring. It was Saturday, at last. He'd managed to survive the darkness and wake to the light. "Is now a bad time? You can call me back or I can call you back or-"

"Hello, Rick," she replied coolly. "Now is a perfect time, actually. I just stepped out of the shower. I'm glad you called."

His head was already spinning, and the images her words evoked certainly weren't helping his brain's ability to function at any intelligent human level. "I am too. Glad that I called, I mean, not glad you just showered."

_Moron_, he thought.

"Mmhmm," she hummed behind an audible grin. "So, you actually _did_ call. Does this mean you're taking me out? Two adults together drinking adult things?"

"I'd very much like to." He instantly panicked, worrying he'd sounded too eager. "That is, if you'd be interested," he added, in an attempt to recover some semblance of casualness.

"I'm the one that gave you _my_ number, Rick, remember? I'm interested."

"Right, yes, you did. I'm sorry. I'll really try to work on thinking before I speak before I see you again, though I can't make any promises."

Kate laughed at his charmingly flustered self-deprecation. "Well, I always appreciate a good effort. So, when will I be seeing you?"

_Ten minutes ago? This second? As soon as humanly possible?_

He resisted the urge to voice any of the thoughts that immediately flooded his brain. "Are you free this evening? I know it's very short notice and we'd talked about Sunday, but-"

"Tonight. Let's do it," she cut in agreeably. "I need to go into the office this afternoon for a while, so would it be all right if I met you somewhere later?"

"Your work is never done, huh?"

"You know us bloodsuckers," she teased. "We need constant sustenance."

"Touché, Counselor. Would eight o'clock give you enough time? Oh, and do you like Italian food?"

"Sure and _absolutely_. What did you have in mind?"

"Good. I was thinking about taking you to Rao's."

Kate let out a cough of disbelief. "You can get a table at Rao's? For tonight?"

"Luckily for me, a few other people have heard of Richard Castle as well. I should take advantage of that while I still can."

"Then Rao's at eight o'clock, it is."

His hand clenched excitedly into a fist. "I look forward to it. And don't work too hard in the cave today, okay. It's the weekend, after all."

"I'll see you, Rick."

He hung up and cleared the call from his phone's display before pulling up the keypad. Now all he needed to do was figure out how the hell to get a table.

xxxx

It took seven phone calls, but Rick managed to secure them a table at Rao's for dinner. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know how it all finally came about, but he _was_ entirely sure he now owed someone something. Big.

As if he cared. As if he wouldn't, even after knowing this woman for less than twenty-four hours, do everything in his power to capture the damn moon if that's what it'd take to make it a perfect night...or life or both. The Kate Beckett buzz definitely hadn't worn off. In fact, time had only served to fuel its persistence.

He chose a black suit and a dark navy shirt. It took him four attempts and twenty minutes in front of the mirror to get it right. The blue brought out his eyes, he concluded. Somehow, he thought that might count in his favor. His current list of appealing attributes was minimal at best. He had to take good where he could get it.

He told his mother on the way out that he was meeting Paula for dinner to talk about a potential new writing project. It was an easy fib, utterly plausible. She told him he looked "dashing" and that he was wasting the pretty on "that girl with that awful accent." Helpful, as ever.

He needed to call Paula, actually. He needed a potential new writing project.

He needed to make a list of things he needed. It seemed to be growing as the days wore on.

xxxx

Rick's leg bounced up and down restlessly in the back of the cab, to the extent that when the driver came to a stop for a red light, it felt as though they were being shaken from below by some outside force. When they pulled up to the restaurant, he tipped the cabbie generously for keeping his mouth shut about it. A verbal confrontation would've ruined him, for sure. As it was, without help, he was already perched on the edge of a very steep cliff.

He paced the ice-spotted sidewalk in wait, taking a deep breath in every so often as cabs slowed around him. He couldn't help but be reminded of Kate's bewitching heels, the restaurant's bright red hue beaming like a beacon on the corner. He admonished himself against making any mention of her shoes- one brief conversation about them was charming, a second and she'd probably begin to wonder what troubling secrets his closet and his life held.

"So, you really did it, did you?" The gentle voice called out from behind him, and Rick turned to find Kate waiting for him to wander back down the sidewalk. "I mean, I know you're this famous author and all, but with just a few hours' notice? I bet even Scorsese can't always make that happen," she commended proudly as he neared.

His lips were beginning to reach a stage where they weren't functioning as he wanted them to, the cold air of night rendering them awkwardly inflexible. "Have I succeeded in impressing you yet, because that'll really take a lot of pressure off my rusty we-haven't-been-on-a-first-date-in-a-long-time conversation skills?" He grinned most sincerely as her scent permeated the negligible distance between them. "And, are you a Scorsese fan? He loves this place, you know."

"You're really going to have to stop sounding so surprised that I know things. And, yes, I'm very impressed with both you _and_ Mr. Scorsese. But let me add, you know, for your rusty conversation skills' peace of mind, that I already prefer the writer to the director."

"You smell amazing!" he blurted, apropos of nothing, and then proceeded to hang his head in abject embarrassment.

"Take me inside, Writer," Kate said with a chuckle. "I can barely feel my lips out here."

Oh, he was in such deep, delicious trouble.

xxxx

Rick was conspicuously anxious early on, had essentially admitted as much out on the sidewalk, yet Kate seemed enviably comfortable from the moment they were seated. He tried to use his menu as an anchor, as a distraction, of sorts, because without one, he knew he would've found himself completely immersed in the tumble of her hair or the gloss of her lips or the line of her striking collarbone. _Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare_. He tried to convince himself over and over again. How foolish he was. She was the very reason staring existed.

And then, when it happened, it was so unexpected. If he'd had time to prepare for it, it surely would've backfired. He was certain of that. He would've driven himself crazy thinking about it.

Kate reached out and touched the back of his hand as it rested on the table. It was gentle and fleeting and wonderfully warm. "Don't even try to deny it. You're ogling the Orecchiette, I can tell. Should I be jealous?" she asked with a playful smile.

And that was it. That was all it took to put him at ease. In that moment, she knew exactly what he needed. Somehow. They spent the next two hours immersed in the thrill of newness.

xxxx

They closed down the restaurant, each thoroughly sated by the food and the wine and the conversation, which, despite his earlier apprehension, had never faltered. They stepped out onto the sidewalk, the biting wind attacking their exposed skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks.

"I love winter nights like this," Kate declared, almost blissful in the unlikely assertion.

"That's funny. I just spent a couple of hours with you and I didn't once get the impression you were insane." They were standing close, and he nudged her lightly with his elbow. "But, okay, I'll bite. Tell me why."

The dim light above the street corner danced across her face as she softly rocked her weight back and forth in a feeble attempt to stay warm. "Because," she paused and looked to the sky, "they make me feel alive. Because they're fierce and ferocious and wild. Because their relentlessness is seductive and titillating. Because-_what_?" She had no idea what to make of the way Rick was looking at her.

"I'm just-" He wanted to listen to her words for hours, days, forever. "Maybe _you_ should be the writer."

"I think I'll stick to legal briefs and leave the good stuff to the pros like you, Mr. Castle."

He pulled back on his sleeve and checked his watch for the time. "So-"

"Somewhere else to be? Turn into a pumpkin?" she inquired, in a tone he hoped suggested she wanted the very opposite to be true.

_Sincerity. Go with sincerity._

"There's nowhere else I have to be, and there's nowhere else I want to be. Actually, I was hoping I might be able to persuade you to join me for a coffee and some pie."

"After all that food we just ate? Seriously? I already told you, Writer, you don't need to try to impress me."

He slid his bare hand from his coat pocket and held it out for hers. "We were quite something in there. I'll give us that. But, to be perfectly honest, this has nothing to do with trying to make an impression and everything to do with not wanting to say goodnight to you yet." He smiled demurely and surreptitiously held his breath as he waited for a response.

"Honesty. Also very titillating." Kate placed a hand in his, and with her other, she whistled sharply for an approaching cab. "You, me, and pie, it is." She tugged him toward the edge of the sidewalk as the car pulled up. "I really love winter nights like this," she said, once again, none of her wonder diminished.

He watched the white puff of her warm breath as it collided with the icy breeze. "Yeah," he whispered, barely audible.

He was beginning to understand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Kate toured the large, open room with her eyes after their waitress set off in search of their order of hot coffee and warm pie. The old diner, filled with appropriately cliché yet oddly comforting décor, smelled of maple syrup, vegetable soup, and grilled onions, Kate concluded, each of which, despite the mountain of absurdly expensive pasta and meatballs she'd consumed less than an hour before, made her stomach rumble longingly with their seductive aromas.

"So," she began, taking control of the one-of-us-should-say-something-now reins, "come here often? It's pretty groovy in here. I bet this place is a real hit with the ladies."

She teased, but Rick loved it- how playful she was with him already, how everything about her in these first hours together made him feel like they'd known each other forever.

"With the ones that count, with the truly special ones, it is." He met her eyes and held an intensely unyielding gaze. "Would you consider yourself one of the truly special ones, Kate?"

Oh, he could play at the tease too.

Her eyes opened perceptibly wider with the sincerity of his tone, with the knee-weakening stare of his piercing blues. For just a moment, she wasn't at all certain what to say next. That's not something that happened often to Kate Beckett. So much of her life, her work, demanded the utmost preparedness and the skill of well-timed improvisation.

"No, yeah, I-" It spilled out more as a string of nonsensical sounds than actual words.

Rick pushed his silverware off to the side, unfolded the napkin underneath for his lap and adjusted his legs' position beneath the table of the pea green colored, vinyl booth, all with a grin he couldn't find the strength to suppress. She was biting uneasily- adorably- at her bottom lip, and how the hell was he to be expected to maintain control of his own expressions in the face of such splendor?

"I used to bring my mother and my daughter here for breakfast on the weekends all the time," he told her, tossing her (and himself, really) a lifeline. "Most people probably wouldn't look at this place twice, but we always felt perfectly happy here. Our odd little world of pancakes." He hadn't intended it to sound so wistful, but memories were all around him- whispering ghosts. "The two of them made everywhere we went a bit more special, really." His voice faded reverently.

"That's a very sweet thing to say. You must miss your daughter a lot. Why did she-"

The arrival of their coffee and dessert interrupted her forthcoming question, and Kate held it back while they fussed busily with cups and plates and spoons. The slice of apple crumb pie set between them was enormous, and they laughed together at its cartoonish proportions, grateful they'd elected to share.

Rick insisted she enjoy the first bite, and he catalogued her every movement as though memorizing them as research for some as-yet-unwritten chapter in some non-existent book. As silly as it was as he sat there thinking about it, watching the most mundane of tasks in action before him, it was like he was experiencing it for the first time- the wonder of a bite of pie. Everything about Kate seemed to heighten his level of excitement and anticipation and joy, things that had been lost somewhere in the shadows of late.

"Were you going to ask me something?" he asked, his fork poised above the shared plate as she punctuated her first bite with an audible hum of pleasure.

"How the hell have I survived all these years without this pie, Richard Castle?"

…Even the way his name sounded falling from her lips.

"Please, tell me this. This is beyond. I'm definitely going to owe _you_ now for introducing me to the new great love of my life."

He smiled in an attempt to banish a surge of envy. Envious of pie. _Ludicrous._

"Well, if you keep making those kinds of sounds, by the time this plate is empty we'll be able to call it even."

"Oh, yeah?"

She had such power over him already. "Oh. Yeah."

"Wow, you're easy," she smirked, helping herself to another bite.

"And _you're_ beautiful. I'm sorry I haven't already said so. Rest assured I've been certain of it since the moment I first saw you."

"That's really-thank you. And if-"

There was a particular softness in her reaction. He couldn't help but wonder how often she let it show.

"…if it doesn't sound too strange coming from a woman, I think you're beautiful too- handsome, very handsome. _And_, now I believe you've made me forget what I was really going to ask you. That's twice you've stolen my words since we sat down here, Writer. You're supposed to give words, not take them away."

If only he had them to give, he thought.

"Sometimes I zig when I'm supposed to zag," he said offhandedly.

"Unless this time it was the pie that distracted me. Seriously, I feel like I should call someone important about this and tell them to get down here with other important people immediately- like a pie-mergency."

"If ever there was one," he said with a soft grin, sipping from his steaming cup of black coffee.

Kate looked up from beneath the soft curl of her lashes after a pause of thought. "In all seriousness, though, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but why did your daughter go out there to live with her mom, anyway? From what you've told me, you two seemed to have a really wonderful relationship."

Rick nodded. He nodded because he'd glossed right over the unflattering details when they'd talked about Alexis over dinner. He nodded because they did have a really wonderful relationship, and buried somewhere under the heap of chaos his recent life had become, he knew it must still there, in full force. It had to be. He worshipped Alexis- as his daughter, as his mother's granddaughter, as a human being. She was the very best thing he'd done in his life and the thing he'd always be most proud of, above all else, no matter what.

The hint of a lump began to form in his throat, and he felt like he might actually cry, right there, over the gigantic slice of pie, if he didn't say something, anything, and push it all back down. "I'd like to believe we still _do_ have that kind of relationship. Things for me lately have just been really-unsettled."

A part of him wanted to leave it there, to stop talking, to get out of it, but Kate was looking back at him with eyes that pulled at his insides. She wanted more.

"Between the separation and the divorce and the situation with my publisher, I wasn't devoting the time I should've to Alexis. I just wasn't available. And she _really_ tried to help. It was almost like she became the parent and I became the child, and that wasn't fair to her. None of it was." The volume of his voice dropped to a near whisper. "My distance is what caused her to pull away, and that breaks my heart. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for that. We've always been so connected."

"Rick." Kate rested her hand lightly on top of his. "You love your daughter. I know I just met you, but that's as clear to me as you are, sitting here with me in this peculiar place. Give it some time. Give yourself a break. She'll be back. You'll find that connection again."

Her fingers were wrapped around his. He wasn't sure when that'd happened.

"Where did you come from, Kate Beckett?" His words dripped with earnestness.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean yesterday morning I felt like I didn't know which end was up, and then you came storming through the front door of a coffee shop I'd never been to, on a street I didn't know how I'd come to stumble upon, and now all I seem to want to do is see you and talk to you and listen to you and-see you."

"You already said that one."

She teased, but he loved it.

"I'm sorry. I know. I'm a mess. I shouldn't be saying things like that at all. I've known you for _one_ day. I told you I haven't done this first date thing in a long time. I should seriously consider writing a book about how _not_ to succeed at it." He shook his head at his own foolishness. "If you want, I can direct you to the restroom so you can make your covert escape."

She picked up her fork and swallowed another bite. "I think I'd like to stay and finish my coffee and pie, if it's all the same to you. There's no way in hell you can finish this thing alone. And if I didn't like the things you say, Rick, I would never have given you my number in the first place." She wiped at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "I don't know. There's something about you, Writer. I'm not sure what it is yet, but, so far, I'm enjoying having the chance to find out. So, there won't be any elaborate restroom window getaways. Not tonight, at least. Tonight you're stuck with me and my wanton lust for this dessert."

_Stuck_. He almost burst into laughter. He couldn't think of anything on earth he was less of in that moment.

He playfully pushed her fork away with his own. "Stop hogging all the extra crispy bites, Counselor."

"Wow, you're bossy when you're a mess, you know that?" She winked and he felt his heart skip a beat.

"And you're still beautiful. Now shush so I can think of some more awkward and inappropriate things to say to you in the very near future."

"Sounds promising," she said, with a coy smile.

xxxx

One hour turned to two, turned to three then four, and Saturday night had quickly born Sunday morning. The dim light of the room around them seemed to gleam against the pre-dawn blackness hugging the diner's glass walls, and there was a palpable stillness in the air, one that brought comfort, not uneasiness.

"Wow, it's really late," Rick said, glancing at his watch for the first time since they'd left the restaurant. It struck him almost painful doing it. He was already beginning to hate that time had to exist when he was around Kate.

"Or, it's really early," she said, very glass half-full. "I guess it all depends on how you look at it. Besides, it's Sunday. Sunday was made for not caring what time it is and just being in it."

_Be with me for a million Sundays_. (If only he could actually have said it.)

He wondered whether or not he should ask. He _could_ always blame the late hour. Or the sugar coma he was reeling from. Or his stupidity.

"How is it that you're sitting here with me tonight, Kate?" It came tumbling defiantly out of his mouth before he'd actually agreed to it.

"How is it-"

Now it was out there and he had to explain. "Look, there are a lot of things I don't understand, but, right now, none more so than that. Honestly, how is it a better man hasn't put a ring on your finger yet?"

Kate couldn't help but laugh. "You sound just like my mother. Oh, God, wait, please tell me you haven't conspired with my mother in some elaborate matchmaking scheme. I wouldn't put it past her. She's a huge fan of yours."

"You _mother_ is a huge fan?"

"Oh yeah, when she's done reading your books, she brings them to my apartment and leaves them scattered around for me to find. Subtle, she's not."

"Maybe your mother met my mother at one of the Subtle Moms meetings. I think mine usually hosts, actually. She's the one with the bright red hair and the lipstick to match, the prismatic outfits that come with warnings not to look directly at them for fear of permanent eye damage, and a penchant for calling everyone _darling_."

"Okay, you win," Kate deadpanned. "Also, _prismatic_? That was kind of hot. I'm always fond of a man with a large-vocabulary."

Rick crooked an eyebrow suggestively. "If you like that, you should see my thesaurus."

"Tease."

He cleared his throat and fiddled with the crinkled up paper of a discarded sugar packet. "I'm really baffled here, Kate. How is a woman as magnificent as you are sitting here with _me_ in some ridiculous diner at a most ungodly hour of a freezing January morning?"

"Well, when you put it like that. See ya!" She slid toward the edge of the booth jokingly before pushing herself back into place. She reached across the table and slid the ball of paper away from him, like it was some variation on a talking stick, like only the one who possessed it had the floor to speak.

"I work a lot. _A lot_. My job- my career- is really important to me. My mother thinks I hide in it, and sometimes she's right, I guess. I just haven't made an effort to put myself out there again in that way." Her words became fainter. "I was actually married once. We were so young, though, right out of college, and blinded by the fantasy of some idyllic life we were about to embark on together. We were quite the cliché. Everything just seemed to change when I started law school. Somehow the _we_ of it all just got lost."

"I wonder now," he interjected, sensing from the slightly melancholy tone of her voice that she might welcome a pause, "if my recent wife and I ever really were a _we_. We were very good at being a corporation- a writer and his publisher- but the friends and lovers part…I don't know. I wanted all of it. I want all of it. Maybe I should thank her for realizing I was a failure and divorcing me. Could be the best thing she ever did for me."

He looked up at Kate and knew it was true.

"Boy, we're the life of the party come 3 AM, aren't we?" She tossed the balled up paper at him with a wicked smile, and it bounced off of his chin and back onto the table. The projectile didn't seem to register with him, didn't even cause him to blink.

"Your husband was a fool."

"We both were."

_How could anyone possibly let you get away?_

"But, now, here I am, at this table with you, in this straight-out-of-the-'70s diner on a bitter January morning." She stopped speaking while she scanned the room once more. "You really should stop wondering about all the whys and hows, Writer. It's Sunday now. Sunday is for just being in it."

xxxx

**Note**: I'm heading out of town on vacation this weekend. The next update will post upon my return.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Kate's body released a robust yawn just before 4:30 AM- one it seemed most grateful to finally be free of- long after their mutual switch to decaf had been made, and Rick sat across the table from her and marveled at his own level of sharpness as he watched it overtake her.

For more months than he could remember, he'd been acutely aware of every toss and every turn his body made when the lights went out each night. Hours spent staring into the blackness of his bedroom had become as commonplace for him as putting on socks, ordering a sandwich, waiting for the next domino in his mess of a life to fall. He'd actually come to suspect it some sort of punishment- cruel revenge carried out by the Ghosts of Poor Decisions and Wrong Turns Past. What better way to torture an already struggling writer, he thought, than by plaguing him with a brain so worn, so fatigued, it could barely string two worthy sentences together anymore?

Rick's prolific well of words had dried up, and he understood, rationally, that Black Pawn Publishing was probably right to drop him for it. After all, his buddy, his plaything, his adolescent mind's fantasy hero turned their cash cow, Derrick Storm, had waned in popularity and acclaim to the likes of the _Clearance_ rack at Mindless-Paperbacks-R-Us. But the bitterness still churned inside him nonetheless, steadily reminding him it was alive and well, like the gentle simmer of water in a heated pot, ready to boil up and over the sides with just the right catalyst.

And then there was doubt. Doubt was now bitterness' closest friend. Not only were they probably right to dump him, a tiny voice inside of him whispered, he probably never really deserved to be there in the first place. He'd fooled them all, apparently.

But Kate yawned across the table from him at nearly 4:30 AM, and in those brief seconds, it struck him like an electric bolt that he couldn't recall a time in recent past when he'd felt more awake, when he'd wanted _less_ to sleep, when the churning of those unsettled waters within him had felt more serene- when _maybe never_ became simply _maybe_. This woman he hardly knew was quite literally changing his body chemistry with each passing moment. That's how it honestly felt to Rick, all potential repudiations by actual science aside.

"I'd give that a one out of ten on the subtlety scale, Counselor," Rick teased, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling free his wallet.

"Hmm?" she buzzed in sound only, unaware of what she'd done to elicit the spontaneous rating.

"I may not be award-winning when it comes to reading a woman's signs (see: divorces one and two), but I do believe that when I spot a molar or two, the date is officially over and it's time to see the lady home."

Their waitress, Dorothy (they'd been on a first name basis for nearly two hours), had already finished her shift for the night and had handed the table off to another equally whimsical broad to close them out. Rick managed to catch her eye from across the room, and with a universally understood wave of his wrist, Midge swung by the table and dropped off their check with a wink and a "sad to see you two gorgeous lovebirds go" that went blushingly unacknowledged. They really had been there a very long time.

"Trying to get rid of me, Rick? So soon? It's only been, what, eight hours?" Kate shook her head in feigned condemnation. "And after all the memorable bites of pie we shared. I'm hurt. I really am." She flashed him an exaggerated pout a four year old might manufacture if she hadn't gotten her way.

"Now then," he began, his eyebrows crooked, "shall I rate your talent with sarcasm, too? I should first warn you that I'm a master of it myself and, as such, I might not be as generous in scoring as I was in the last round."

"Ha! A _one_ was you being generous?"

"A zero seemed unnecessarily cruel, Kate. I mean, I do understand that a yawn can be physiological as well, so I felt I had to grant you that slim possibility."

Kate bit at her bottom lip again, as he'd seen her do once before, and it was just as inexplicably captivating the second time. He couldn't help but imagine what it might taste like on this morning. Like cinnamon and forever, he decided.

"Hey," she said softly, his eyes still laser-focused on the spot where her teeth had been. "Come here for a second." She secured her balance as best she could, her hands clutching at the edge of the table as she rose from her side of the booth and inched toward him, above their empty coffee cups and well-used silverware.

He pushed himself up in a motion mirroring hers and met her in the middle, uncertain as to what awaited him, but grateful still, in spite of that, to have been summoned by her at all. There he waited, frozen in wonder, as did she, the covert level of enjoyment she derived from the lingering gaze bettered only by his entirely conspicuous one.

"Now close your eyes."

And he did, without question or hesitation.

He felt her lips meet his, soft, purposeful, fighting doggedly to remain connected despite the perceptible quake invading both sets of arms and legs, courtesy of the awkwardness of their positions.

Slowly Rick pulled back, with a groan of anguish over his body's ill-timed failure.

"That was-"

"…An apology for my impolite physiology," she interrupted. "And, something I've been thinking about since that glob of apple dribbled down your chin earlier."

"_Really_? That was definitely not one of my finest first date moments."

"I'm weird that way, I guess. I like it when life happens, when control isn't ours. Some of the most real takes place in those moments. Besides, I thought the apple became you. It's always been my favorite fruit on a man."

"Well, in that case, weirdo," he chuckled, "your very memorable apology is definitely accepted, though I'm sure the brief tantrum I threw when it came to a premature end made that quite clear. And, in the spirit of reciprocation, I hope you'll accept mine, as well, for selfishly keeping you out so late tonight- though that's technically more your fault than mine."

"Anyone ever told you that you kind of suck at apologies? And just out of curiosity, how is it my fault, exactly?"

Back in his seat, he returned his attention to his wallet, and he began pulling out cash, counting it casually as she awaited an answer. "Well, Kate, the thing is, you're a lot like Thanksgiving." He paused and grinned, knowing full well she had no idea what he was suggesting, her brow furrowing adorably, right on cue.

"Let's just assume I'm still confused."

"Of course." He placed his wallet on the table and leaned in, as though about to divulge a secret he wanted no one else to hear. "So, you know how Thanksgiving is the most anticipated meal of the year, and when you finally sit down to eat after all those hours and days and months of waiting, one helping just isn't enough because you just can't believe how delicious it is, and you foolishly think a second helping will satisfy your yearning for more, but it only seems to further fuel your desire, so you fall prey to the siren song of that third and fourth and fifth glorious helping, and on and on and on. That call cannot be denied, Kate. Its power is too great. I believe science has proven that song is responsible for, like, 76% of the day's weight gain, or something. I think I read that somewhere."

"Huh. Fascinating. Well, Rick, first you'll need to tell me which websites you're clicking on to get your scientific data so I can be sure to _never _ever visit them. Second, I'm sure there's probably a compliment buried in that run-on sentence somewhere, so how about I just concede to the fault being mine and add a thank you."

Rick opened his hand and dropped a $100.00 tip on the table (they'd spent all night there, after all), pushed his arms through the sleeves of his coat. "You're a spectacular woman, Kate. Somehow, I knew that from the instant I saw you. And every minute I've spent with you since has only served to make me want more and more of them. I can't help it. _This_ is your power, your Thanksgiving siren song- being you. That's all my increasingly feeble writer's brain was trying to say. Clearly my similes need polishing."

He slid out of the booth and offered his hand to assist her. "Come on, let's get out of here. They might start charging us rent soon."

She accepted his gesture and held on to him all the way out to the sidewalk. He couldn't see it, but she felt it- the soft tug of the smile at the corners of her mouth.

xxxx

"God, I could really use a dose of those baby blues right about now," Kate huffed, as she hiked her way back up the stairs to the conference room on the 17th Floor after soaking up a few moments of fresh air out on Michigan Avenue. "Everything is either beige or grey in this place. How anyone can stand to work every day in this kind of blah environment is beyond me. Beige isn't living." Her disdain echoed off the walls in the confined space around her, in tandem with the clack of her heels against the heavy metal of the industrial staircase.

"Meetings are going that well, huh?" Rick wisecracked. "Why do you sound so out of breath?"

Kate had been in Chicago on a business trip with her father for four days now, attempting to secure what would be two significant new clients for the Beckett law firm. It was the first time she and Rick hadn't seen each other for more than a day or two in the couple of months they'd been together, and the separation was hitting both harder than they'd imagined.

"I had to get out of this damn building for a bit, so I just walked down the sidewalk and back and now I'm headed back upstairs for another round of ass-kissing. I decided to take my doom and gloom out on the stairs instead of the elevator, and clearly my impulsiveness gets the last laugh on this one. It's seventeen damn floors up."

"Two damns, Counselor, wow. The situation out there sounds quite serious. You know if I was there I'd throw you over my shoulder like a fireman would, right? I'd carry you up those damn stairs like a stallion. And then you'd have to thank me. A lot. Gold star for selflessness, right here."

Kate paused when she reached the 11th Floor landing and leaned her back against the wall for a brief moment of rest. Her mind filled instantly with the memory of a recent night with Rick over two bottles of wine and not enough food to counteract its effects- when the elevator in her apartment building was being serviced- when they were forced to take the stairs- when he backed her up against the hard, white wall of the stairwell with just the right amount of force to make her body buck against his in a way that provoked the most titillating moan.

"You're a prince among men, Fireman Rick." Now all she could think about was the texture of that hard, white wall. "I do miss your face, you know. I'll see you at the airport tomorrow?" The dim light projected their two shadows as one on that hard, white wall.

"I can't wait," he said, looking at his watch and tallying up the hours. "Did your dad decide to stay in Chicago or am I finally going to meet the elusive man behind my woman?"

"He's staying. My mom's coming in to meet him for a romantic weekend. I didn't ask any more questions, as you can imagine."

He laughed in understanding. "Yes, I can understand and appreciate that. Sometimes I walk through the front door of the loft with my eyes closed, just in case. Oh, Mother," he sighed, as if recounting a particular incident while trying to banish it from his brain at the same time. "And, I miss your face, too." It wasn't enough that he thought it. He had to say it.

Kate pushed her barely-recovered body from the wall and resumed her climb. "Okay, well, I'm on the move again, so I'll call you tonight. We're taking these beige suits out to dinner- _smooch, smooch_- but when I get back to the hotel, you'll be second on my list, right after I tear into the minibar."

"You flatter me so," he teased. "But, should you change your mind and decide the cashews can wait, I promise to try my very hardest to make it worth your while."

She stopped moving again, mid-step. "Your _hardest_, huh?" She smiled audibly. That damn hard, white wall.

"Don't even start, wicked woman. Don't. Even. Start. You have a meeting- or five- and I have…nothing at all to do but imagine how amazing you smell right now. Idle hands, idle hands."

"I'm going, I'm going. I'll call you later."

"Bye, beautiful," he said, before the line went silent.

Tomorrow.

xxxx

**Note**: Hope everyone had a nice week while I was away. Thanks for returning to the piece.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Kate's text message buzzed Rick's phone just as he'd finished booking a flight of his own out to California to visit Alexis for her half-birthday. The trip was to be a surprise, entirely spontaneous, mainly because it felt like something the old "fun dad" Rick Castle would've done, but the fear that she might tell him not to come if she knew about it ahead of time couldn't be discounted as a factor in the decision either. That reality made his heart heavy, though deep down inside him somewhere he believed things with his daughter could change for the better, given time. He had to hold on to that.

Kate's flight home from Chicago was delayed at O'Hare, hence her message and her subsequent insistence upon taking a cab back to her place instead of having him meet her at the airport as they'd planned. As it now stood, she'd be arriving after 10 PM, and she didn't want him sitting around and waiting at JFK if things got pushed again. The entire tone of her text was summed up by the colon and left parenthesis that lingered sadly at its end.

_You can just say you'd rather go home and paint your nails or something than kiss me tonight, you know. You can be honest. I can take it._

The last part of his reply was a blatant lie, of course. He couldn't take it- didn't want to take it. He wanted desperately to see her, to touch her. Tonight.

There was an appreciable pause before his phone vibrated again. A too-long pause during which he was forced to contemplate exactly how much he'd miss the delicious sensation of her four-day-absent lips against his if he couldn't feel them that night. _A lot_ wasn't even in the ballpark of covering it.

_The only thing I want to do tonight, Writer, is you._

Rick smiled broadly, thankful no one was around to ask any questions as to its origin.

_I just don't know when I'll be getting in at this point, so why don't I just call you when I land, if it's not too late._

_It won't be too late. Please call me when you get in, okay? _

Kate assured him she'd call, after one more round of back-and-forth she realized she'd never win. Rick often found success in convincing others to concede their positions. He'd always had that way about him, and he took delighted pride in it- sometimes more than others.

_XO, _she wrote, and his phone went quiet.

xxxx

He showered, for the second time that day, out of nervousness or excitement or lack of any productive thought, really, as to how to pass the hours until he'd hear from her. His mother was out for the evening- another date, another actor, though she'd sworn she'd never do _that_ again. "Who would be me if I wasn't, Richard?" she'd told him in puckish justification of her own betrayal. And she was right. There wasn't anyone at all like Martha Rodgers.

Rick sat alone in his office before a large flat screen TV, his video game chirping and gurgling noisily in response to the seemingly indiscriminate taps of his fingers on the controller. Minutes had past, hours probably, he couldn't tell- as was usually the case when the console came on- when his phone finally rang. He'd turned up the volume on the ringer to an almost unbearable level, as if he would've allowed the phone out of his sight for two seconds in anticipation of her call, and it made him jump, despite the din of the zombie-infested game.

"Hey," he answered, with a faux nonchalance even a blind man could've seen through. "What took you so long?" He still had no idea how long it'd been, for the record.

"Is it true?" she asked, without any greeting at all.

"Is- is what true?"

"That absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Oh, that, well, I think I'd rather show you than tell you, if you'd be interested in such a demonstration, that is."

"Why don't you open the door and find out."

"You're-"

His phone crashed to the floor as he launched his body from the chair and ran in a flat sprint to the front door. He yanked it open with fervor, the only sight to behold the view of his neighbor's front door across the hall. He took a step out of the loft, his head whipping to the right but finding no one there.

"Lookin' for me, Writer?" asked a sultry voice to his left.

A smile took over his whole face as he reached out for the lapels of her coat. "If you don't step inside right now, I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do to the building's Board. Again." He pulled Kate in behind him, leaving her no opportunity at all to offer a response.

The door slammed behind them and he backed her up against it, slid her bag from her shoulder and let it fall to the ground with a thud.

"Wow, I should go away more often," she teased.

"Don't you dare!" he exclaimed with the utmost seriousness, his hands cupping the covetable angles of her jaw. "Don't you dare."

And then his lips were on hers, relentless in their need for more and more. Kate's arms, though somewhat inhibited by the fitted fabric of the coat that covered them, came up around the wide of his shoulders, allowing her fingers the access they craved to the ruffle of his nowhere-to-be-tonight hair. They traveled individual paths to the base of his neck, leaving behind defined ridges of insistence above his ears and a congregation of goose bumps along his exposed skin.

Rick tasted her lips as he never had before, with the greatest of relief for their return, for their existence, for their seemingly designed fit with his own. He hummed as the tip of her tongue brushed softly against his and she smiled with the buzz of power, her hand gripped firmly, possessively around the back of his neck.

He broke from her mouth suddenly and with new intent, the vanilla and lavender-mingled scent of her skin more than he could bear to neglect any longer. "God, you smell amazing." His tongue licked a delicate line along the smooth intersection of her neck and her shoulder. "And you taste amazing."

Kate managed only to chuckle, the ability to form actual words lost briefly in the sensation of his warm breath against her skin. "It's a new fragrance I'm trying. It's called Eau de Too Many Hours in Airports Today." Their eyes met as he pulled back. "It's a name in progress."

Rick's thumb traced the line of her bottom lip still glistening from their contact. "I missed you."

"I got that impression," she quipped, biting at her lip in the way that always drove him mad. She leaned in toward him. "I missed you too, Writer," she whispered, before nipping at his earlobe.

Maneuvering her way around his body, Kate unbelted and shed her coat, dropping it on top of her discarded bag and sliding both aside with her foot. "Is your mother home?" she asked, making her way toward the nearby sofa.

"Ah, she isn't, no. It's date night again for Martha- an actor, of course, though she supposedly swore them off. As usual, she hasn't learned her-"

"Are you still talking?" she interrupted, perched on the edge of the corner sofa cushion, her fingers unhooking the top buttons of her cream-colored silk top.

"Am I-"

"Get over here, already, would ya? I'm ready to find out just how much you've missed me."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, scurrying toward her. "Thank you, Mother," he mumbled into the air above him, feeling immense gratitude for her absence. "Thank you."

xxxx

"I can't feel my lips anymore," Rick sighed, in an exhale of what little breath he'd managed to retain. "And I kind of like it."

Kate snickered softly. "If I ever go away for _five_ days, we might need a medic on standby, huh? Either that or we need to practice more often so you can keep up."

At some point, Rick had ended up underneath her on the sofa- how and when, he couldn't recall. His black tee hung awkwardly from his neck, twisted around one bicep while his other rested bare along the edge of the cushion, Kate's hair tickling at a spot under his chin, her ear pressed against the skin above his rapidly thumping heart. Her shirt, much to his wanton delight, sat before them in a wrinkled ball on the coffee table, a process started by her own hand and finished by his.

"Well, if you're offering me more of you, you can definitely count me in. And if that was some kind of a knock at my kissing prowess, you should have a little chat with your body, Counselor, because it was screaming otherwise." He remembered them all- every catch of her breath, every tiny hum that begged for more, every squeeze of her fingertips at his back, every roll of her hips under his. "Besides, I'll have you know that Becky Forester told me I was the best make-out partner she'd ever had."

"Oh, yeah?" Kate rolled her head upright and pecked the warm skin of his chest. "Should I be jealous of this Becky Forester?"

"Okay, well, we were fourteen, but still. The _best_, she said. That's the real takeaway, there." He dragged his finger softly along the pale pink lace of her bra strap. "A male ego can never hear that enough."

"I'll keep that in mind," she chuckled, "in case the occasion should ever arise."

He lifted the strap and snapped it playfully against her skin. "Very funny."

They remained still for the next few moments, legs tangled, breaths in sync, fingers moving in random patterns against whichever part of the other was nearest. The ambient sounds of the loft purred around them, hung over them like a blanket, until the vibration of Kate's phone from the pocket of her abandoned coat jolted them from the calm.

"Do you need to answer that?" How he wished she'd never move.

"I'm sure it's just my dad making sure I finally got in okay. I told him I'd text him when I got to JFK, but all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there as quickly as possible."

"And get here to me, right?"

She pinched the flesh of his arm. But, yes.

"Oh, speaking of dads, this dad booked a flight today to go out and visit his daughter for her half-birthday."

"You talked to Alexis? That's so great. I'm sure she's really excited about it."

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I haven't actually told her I'm coming. I don't think my heart could've taken it if she asked me not to." A wave of sadness swept over him, one he could physically feel.

Kate pushed herself up from her position with what little leverage she had. "Rick, you're her father. She loves you. She wouldn't ask you not to come and see her."

"Thank you for saying that, and for being such a beautiful optimist." He glided his hand down along the length of her arm and took her hand. "I'm trying to stay positive about it. I really am. I think it could be fun. We always used to try to find things to celebrate, the sillier the better. I thought a half-birthday might be a good one."

"It's one of the best ways to go through life, if you ask me, finding the little things like that to share. I'm really glad you're doing this. Alexis will be too. You'll see." She leaned back in over him and crawled forward until her mouth hung over his, her eyes watching it as it fell open slightly in anticipation of what might come next. "But, right now, if it's okay with you, I'd like to get back to making up for four days without the taste of you on my lips."

He didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

xxxx

Kate's anxious fingers crept their way down to Rick's belt, the soft suction of his mouth on the spot he'd found on her neck fueling their journey, as their bodies remained melded together precariously on the edge of the living room sofa.

It was just after midnight, though neither could've guessed accurately, their attentions entirely focused on each other since the moment Rick answered the door. At the moment, the world spun only for them, which is why they were completely oblivious to the two sets of approaching footsteps.

"Richard!" his mother barked, as she stood before the coffee table, her expression rife with motherly disapproval. "Honestly."

Rick rolled Kate sideways, did his best to cover up as much of her as he could without smothering her in the little room he had at his disposal. His tee was long since gone, flung he had no idea where, until Martha pulled it from the nearby lampshade and tossed it at him, turning back to the date she'd elected to bring home and shrugging in embarrassment.

She hooked her arm around that of the tall, dark and handsome actor and led him toward the kitchen, giving Kate and Rick time to gather themselves to a state of some presentability.

"Any chance she didn't see me?" Kate joked, trying to alleviate some of the weight that'd fallen over them. "At least I wore a bra today."

Rick couldn't help but laugh. She always had a way. "You're spectacular."

"You are too. And if we had ten more minutes," she whispered in close, "I bet you could've proven just _how_ spectacular."

He hung his head, mortified, yes, but more than that, in anguish over what might've been had his mother not...had time not...

"I'm just going to sneak out, okay? Go kiss your mother on the cheek, shake your future stepfather's hunky hand, and then stretch out in bed and use that author's imagination of yours." She winked for fun, kissed him hard and fast, and headed for the door, still fastening the buttons of her shirt as she went.

"Lovely seeing you again, Katherine," Martha singsonged amusedly from across the room.

"You too, Martha," Kate called out, suppressing a giggle.

Rick watched her go, absorbing every last second of a view he both loved and loathed as the door clicked shut behind her. He ran his hands through his hair and took two deep breaths in before moving along to the kitchen filled with awkward. Martha watched him approach, shook her head in a tsk just enough so only he'd see it.

He smiled- faked it, at least- and thought only of fleeing to his bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

All those hours later, Rick swore he could still taste hints of vanilla and lavender on his tongue from the flat of Kate's neck, from the arc of her shoulder, from that spot between her breasts that began a path downward toward a paradise the likes of which he'd never known before. He pulled his forearm away from his eyes, granted the light of morning its access, and it invaded with fierce might, one that felt more akin to a slap across the face than a delicate kiss on the cheek.

He wanted to feel the weight of her in bed next to him. That's how their weekends usually began now, limbs wrapped possessively around limbs in some elegant and grateful dance. But last night Hurricane Martha Rodgers had blown in on the arm of her Cary Grant wannabe date- Robert or Steve or William was his name, though Rick didn't much care to try and recall which at the moment- so he woke alone, with a frustrated grumble.

"You do remember you have a bedroom here, right, darling?" his mother had quipped when faux-Cary had sauntered off to the washroom, leaving the two of them alone, both with the image of Kate tiptoeing out the door still hanging over them. As though he was supposed to find some amusement in that and chuckle right along. She'd sure seemed to, given the cat-who-ate-the-canary grin plastered all over her face.

Rick stretched for his phone and relished the pull of his morning muscles as he moved. The screen lit up with the press of his thumb and Kate's typed words still lingered there, their dialogue message box left open from the previous night like some magic key to help seduce his blurry eyes awake.

…_In the backseat of the cab home, I could still feel your fingertips tickling down the line of my back. _

…_In the vibration of the elevator, I could still feel the shiver of my body when your tongue brushed against my neck. _

…_In the weight of my sheets, I can still feel your body pressed against mine. _

Then came the only response he'd been able to formulate: _You're absolutely killing me_.

Brilliantly unpoetic.

The last thing she'd said was _I wish you were here_.

In that moment, he now remembered, he'd wanted nothing on earth more.

xxxx

"G'morning, gorgeous," he purred happily into the phone, having waited as long as he could possibly stand to before calling. "Did I wake you?"

"Not in the way I would've liked," Kate replied wickedly, forgoing the pleasantries.

Rick huffed deeply. "How do you always know the best thing to say at the worst possible time?"

She squeaked out a morning laugh and tucked the sheets up around her. "Oh, that's a very special gift."

He rolled over onto his side and stared at the empty pillow next to his. It'd already started to scare him, how wrong everything had begun to feel when she wasn't around, even if she was only a matter of city blocks away, even if he'd seen her mere hours before. Much of him was still broken, he knew, and it was so clear to him the kind of man Kate deserved, given her history, given the caliber of woman she was. He wanted to be all of the things she'd hoped for and dreamed of, and that was nothing his heart had ever experienced before.

"Hey, you got quiet all of a sudden," she said. "Everything okay?"

"Am I- no, yeah, I'm fine. I'm good. I, uh, reread your texts from last night a little while ago, so I'm still in a bit of a daze. Would you like to go out and get some breakfast or something?"

She smiled quietly, appreciating the power of her words, appreciating his willingness to admit to their effect. "Actually, why don't you come over here and I'll make us something. I have a present for you, anyway. For _some_ reason, I never got around to giving it to you last night." She cleared her throat suggestively.

"That's funny. I had a present I wanted to give to you last night too. Very, very much."

"Is that what you're calling it these days? A present?"

"If the bow fits," he teased. "Do you want me to stop and get anything on the way over? I just need to grab a quick shower."

Kate sat up and slid from the bed, shuffled into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. "Or you could shower here. You know, if you want to." She ran her hand slowly along her neck and down over her breast, hoping so that he'd want to.

"In that case, I'm definitely not stopping anywhere." He flew from the bed and ran into the closet for clothes, any clothes at all.

"Hey, before you hang up, say _case_ again. Legalese turns me on."

Rick stopped dead in his tracks. "Caaaaase," he breathed exaggeratedly.

"Hurry up and get over here, Writer."

"My briefs and I are on the way, Counselor." He chuckled, most pleased with himself. "See what I did there?"

She stepped toward the shower and turned on the water, held the phone close so he'd hear it clearly. And then she hung up.

xxxx

Kate answered the knock at the door in a robe that left nothing to the imagination. It hung loosely across the line of her shoulders, the sash tied in a loop so low on her waist the lapels formed a V that came to a point just above where she wanted him most, like an arrow to lead him home. Her hair framed her face wildly, perfectly morning, screaming for his fingers to come in and play, her lips glossy from the slide of her tongue preparing them to dance with his.

Rick stood in the open doorway, one hand clenched into a fist at his side in an effort to collect all of the energy she hadn't yet invited him to unleash. His eyes traveled her robe's right lapel down and down some more until it reached its end at the pale skin below her navel. They paused there, wondering what hid beneath, hoping the answer was nothing at all, promising to return soon, and over and over again. Up the left lapel they then moved, taking special care to silently appreciate the outline of her peaked breast before completing the journey at her mouth that hadn't yet uttered a word.

He took a step forward and she a step backward in turn, his hand taking control of the door and pushing it closed behind him. She ran a hand through her hair, and when a few rebellious strands gathered atop her shoulder, he set them back in line with the rest, leaving an electrified patch of skin behind.

"Hi," he spoke finally, in a way that seemed not at all adequate for the height of the moment, yet somehow ideal in its simplicity.

"What took you so long?" she asked playfully, in a tone reminiscent of some broad in an old 1940s comedy. "I almost started without you."

Rick drew his eyebrows up in mock disapproval- a nonverbal _Oh, is that so?_ He reached for the zipper of his coat and pulled it downward, dipped a hand inside and pulled out a single rose. "I realized I had to make one stop." He held the flower and she took it from him, grazing his fingers with her own at the pass. "Today is our seventy-first day. That kind of anniversary couldn't pass by uncelebrated. That's important stuff."

Kate brought the crimson flower to her nose and inhaled its scent, let her eyes fall shut as she let it fill her. "Yes, very important, you're right." Her smile lit up her entire face. "It's beautiful. Thank you. And you're forgiven."

"You're welcome. And just so you know," he leaned in, "the images now floating around in my head of you starting without me will never, ever go away. For that, I thank _you_." He traced a fingertip along the line of her exposed clavicle. "You look fucking incredible, you know that?" He shook his head like he simply couldn't believe such a level of incredible even existed.

She felt her middle twitch in reaction to his words- their sincerity, their hunger. She turned and headed deeper into the apartment, her eyes floating instructions to him to follow, her hand tugging at the loose knot of her robe causing it to fall open and slip from one shoulder.

Rick watched it unfold with hurried step, watched her place the rose on the kitchen counter without pause and move down the hallway, leaving the robe in a pile outside her bedroom. He bent to pick it up as he stepped to its position.

"Leave it," she commanded without ever turning back. "Leave yours too."

She disappeared into the bathroom, and all he could hear was the familiar sound of water pulsating against tile.

xxxx

Kate's sheets felt warm and wet beneath them, their bodies splayed diagonally across the bed, clear evidence of their capitalization of every available inch of it. Rick had carried her there from the shower, towels hanging nearby abandoned dry and unused because neither cared to care, the lingering water left in the showerhead soothing in its distant metronomic drip.

Rick's chest rose and fell as Kate's fingers drew curlicues on his skin, one of her mile-long legs draped over one of his and under the other in a way that might've appeared outwardly awkward but felt, to both, entirely sublime. Her bedroom was bright with the hue of late-morning sun, neither of them bashful about how the light played with the lines of their bodies or the secrets it revealed.

Their physical compatibility was undeniable and overwhelming, the inelegance that so often came with the meeting of unacquainted bodies entirely absent from the very beginning. It was as though each had been gifted a map of the other, weeks or months or years beforehand, to study and to learn every inch of pleasure-yielding terrain.

"You're incredible. I hope you know that," Rick murmured through heavy breath, his fingers tangled in the web of her mussed hair.

Kate rolled forward slightly, increasing her breadth of contact with the muscle of his thigh, and sending a new spark of arousal through her entire body. "You're pretty incredible, yourself, Writer. I have no objections at all. See what _I_ did there?" She giggled and bit lightly at his skin. "Thank you for saying so."

"Oh, the things I could tell you," Kate Beckett. "My head is full of words."

"Yeah? A new book in the works?" She perched her chin up on his chest and waited anxiously for more.

"Ha! I wish." _That_ well was still as dry as the Sahara. "No, no, I meant words about you, for you. I just-"

She untangled her limbs and shifted into the angle between his legs, her breasts settled at the line of his waist. "What kind of words? You holding out on me?"

He blindly reached an arm behind him and grabbed for a pillow to prop underneath his head to better see her. The skin of her face was clean, rosy with the delicious glow of exertion. Her eyes were mesmerizing, magnetic, their green sparkling felicitously in the room's natural light. She took his breath away. Always.

"I just don't want to scare you away, that's all." He tucked an errant strand of hair back into place behind her ear. "I don't want to do anything that could ruin this. I've done too much of that lately."

"Rick," she said softly, "you can tell me anything. Trust me, okay? Tell me."

They gazed at each other for a long moment as she allowed him the time he needed to find comfort and strength in his voice.

He cupped her cheek in the warmth of his hand and moistened his lips with a pass of his tongue. "I know it's only been seventy-one days, Kate, but despite that relatively short period of time, I find myself very much in love with you. To be honest, I think a part of me knew it was true after just seventy-one _minutes_ with you. I've messed up a lot, Kate. I've made bad decisions. I've earned distrust in the realm of reliable partners and I can understand and accept that consequence. But no one has ever made me want to be a better man more than you have. I want to be worthy of a woman like you. I want to be worthy of a daughter like Alexis. I just hope, more than anything, that you'll allow me the chance to be the man who tries harder than any other has or ever could to make your life happy."

Kate's lips parted in a gentle smile, her eyes wet with the sheen of tears not yet fallen. "You're such a beautiful man. I wish you knew how beautiful. No matter what's happened in the past."

She pressed her lips to his belly before crawling up his body, leaving a trail of kisses as she climbed toward his head at rest against her pillow. His hands wrapped around her bare back in support of her as she inched in closer to his ear. "Don't ever be afraid of love," she whispered, and his eyes fell closed as he savored the exquisite ache her mere use of the word evoked.

She pulled back from him, her eyes staring deeply into his, unwavering. His fingers held her against him even tighter. "I love you too. I do. And I haven't done everything right either. Maybe we can find our way through all of this together."

"God, come here," he uttered as he lifted himself from the pillow and kissed her deeply, the sounds of pleasure emitting from both mingling in the hush of her bedroom.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" she exclaimed, when he finally relinquished her lips in need of air. "You keep distracting me with your lips and your words and your everything else." She rocked her hips against his quite deliberately. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm just pointing out the facts, as we lawyers do. I'll be right back. Wait here."

Rick watched as she climbed down off the bed, her naked body more graceful than any other he'd ever seen. It took everything in his power not to follow her as she disappeared out of the room and down the hallway, yet he found her insistence that he remain in bed in wait incredibly sexy.

He listened intently as her feet shuffled about the floor, in search of what, he didn't know. When she finally returned, his eyes traveled unabashedly up and down her body, entirely overt in their want.

"What do you have there?"

Kate moved back onto the bed, straddled his hips and placed the box on his chest. "I told you I had a present for you. After that performance in the shower, I think you've definitely earned it."

"Oh, definitely," he nodded. "Did you catch that dismount? The judge from Belarus gave it a 9.5."

"A shame you missed the perfect score. We'll have to work on your splash."

"I like the sound of that." His eyes fell to the colorful box. "Shall I open this first?" He never could resist a present.

She pushed herself backward and over his thighs to allow him freedom to bend his body and sit upright. "Sure, but do it quickly because I have big plans for your hands in the very near future."

He practically crushed the box with his enthusiasm, sending the lid flying off the side of the bed and disappearing to the floor. Tissue paper covered the object and he peeled it aside, hoisting the item from the packaging. "Kate, it's beautiful." He drew his hand along the soft Italian leather of its cover, tracing the curl of his embossed initials as he passed over them.

"I know writing has been tough for you lately and I know how much that's upset you. I just thought changing things up a bit might help, might spark some inspiration. A change of writer's scenery, I guess. Computers are so cold. So maybe putting pen to paper? I don't know. It could be a stupid idea. I just thought-"

"Hey, no, I love it. I really love it. So much. This is definitely coming with me to California next week. I promise you it's not stupid. It's amazing." He pulled her in and held her in a hug, his ear pressed against her chest, above her heart. "And I love _you_ for it."

He wouldn't ever be able to articulate the feeling that washed over him knowing he no longer had to keep those words inside.

And all of it because of a cold nose and a pair of red patent stilettos.

He had to smile. He couldn't have written it any better.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Rick glanced over at the empty seat next to him, his phone pressed to his ear in hopes she might answer despite the circus she expected her day to be. Drops of steady rain slid down the tiny oval-shaped window of his row, the dreary start to a day he already felt uncertain about hanging over him, literally, like a bad omen.

"Miss me already?" Kate teased, just managing to rescue the call from the brink of her voicemail system.

"I wish you could come with me." Even his voice sounded grey.

"Wow, Writer. Again? Your body is a true marvel of science. I thought we pretty well covered that ground this morning. A couple of times."

He'd spent the previous night at her place and she'd woken him early- not that he'd slept worth a damn, of course- her body melding with his in the most sublime of distractions, doing its utmost to help unburden him of some of his restlessness before the trip.

"The seat next to me is empty. We could get tipsy on free champagne, unwrap a couple of blankets, slide the window shade down…just imagine the trouble we could get into on a six hour flight." He raised his eyes to find a flight attendant standing before him with a mischievous grin. "Beverly loves the idea. She just told me so." He smiled back at the attendant and she continued down the aisle through first-class.

"Beverly?"

"She's my new American Airlines friend."

"I see. Well, just make sure Beverly keeps her hands off of your peanuts, okay?"

"Deal," he smirked, as he peered out the filmy window again at the soft blur that was his city. "I'm glad you answered. Hearing your voice helped. I hope your day isn't too hectic. I'll leave you a message when we land."

"I'm glad you called. Take a deep breath and think about your daughter's beautiful face. Everything's going to be great."

"I will. I love you. Talk to you later."

"Love you, too. Bye."

Rick switched off his phone, dropped it into his jacket pocket, tightened the strap of his seatbelt, and closed his eyes, with a bit more hope.

xxxx

It was early afternoon on the left coast when Rick's plane landed, the warm air and sunshine a most welcome change from the unusually cold late-March of New York. He sat in his rental car in the lot with the windows rolled down, sent a text message to his ex-wife to let her know he'd arrived. She'd agreed not to tell Alexis about his visit, not to ruin the surprise. He believed she wouldn't. She understood why he wanted it to be that way.

They got along well enough, for a divorced couple whose marriage was likely- or, depending on the day, definitely- a mistake from its impulsive inception. Aside from Alexis, Rick often wondered what good at all came out of it. Not that his ex-wife wasn't a good person. That wasn't it. She just wasn't good for him. Nor he for her. Silver lining: they'd both realized and agreed upon that fact relatively early on, early enough for it not to result in World War III come to New York.

Alexis would be home from school in a couple of hours, her reply message said, and he felt thankful for the extra time. The breeze whisking against his face for a while could only help.

He was staying out by the beach in Santa Monica, not at his usual L.A. spot in the heart of the pseudo-glitz of the Sunset Blvd craze, to be closer to Alexis in the little time he had to spend with her. His dishearteningly sizable alimony payments- courtesy of his old buddy, Storm- had helped to purchase a large condo with an even larger view, and while he cringed at the notion that he was paying for a gorgeous piece of real estate he'd never live in, he was grateful that his daughter, who'd fled from the comfort of the gorgeous loft in New York that was her true home, had such a place waiting to welcome her.

Rick loaded his small hotel's address into the rental car's GPS system and headed out into the sunshine and traffic of Los Angeles. It was an entirely different world than the one he lived in every day and he found an odd comfort in that. He wasn't boxed in by skyscrapers, he wasn't at the mercy of fickle Mother Nature, he wasn't overrun by sounds and smells and hustle and bustle. There was a freedom of space and a unique quiet. He knew it could never be his permanent home. He was too in love with his lady, New York. But he always welcomed the opportunity to spend a bit of time, especially now, when another love of his was there to share it with him.

He pulled up in front of the hotel some time later- everything took longer than one expected or hoped in L.A.- and handed the car keys off to the valet. He registered with the front desk and was led down a small set of hallways to an elegant room that overlooked the ocean. After emptying a mini-bottle of scotch into a glass of ice, he stepped out onto the balcony with his phone and dialed Kate's number for the second time that day.

"Nice timing, world traveler," she answered, with an audible smile. "How was the flight?"

"Hey, beautiful. Smooth sailing all the way, and you'll be happy to know that Beverly behaved herself the entire time, in spite of my numerous and usually effectual advances."

"_Happy_ might be overshooting it a bit when you add in that second part."

"Right, yes, good tip." He swallowed down another sip of the scotch, already succumbing to the power of its calming effect. "So, why nice timing? How has your day been?"

"Oh, I just got back to the office after delivering some contracts. I just have a couple more things to do here and then I'm heading home. You caught me in the long-awaited bliss of silence. Everyone else has already left for the night."

"I'm glad to hear that. I really wish you could see what I'm seeing right now. It's a beautiful spot."

"Next time, I promise. Have you talked to Alexis yet?"

"Not yet. She's supposed to be home from school soon, so I'll head over to the condo in a bit." His heart fluttered with a pulse of excitement at the mere thought. "It's probably going to be too late to call you and say goodnight later, but I'll try you in the morning."

"It's a date," Kate said warmly. "I hope the reunion is everything you hope for, Rick. I'll be thinking of you."

"Naked?" Though she couldn't see him, he wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed heartily. "Do you really want me to think about you being naked while you're with your daughter?"

"No, sorry, I meant will _you_ be naked when you're thinking of me? Because I can wrap that up nicely and save it for later."

"Well, I did have a busy night of Chinese food, nail filing and bill paying planned, but I'll see what I can do."

"That's all I ask." He looked off into the distance, the afternoon sun glinting off the surface of the ocean. "Hey, if I haven't said it already, thank you for having faith in me and for supporting me through this. It may not seem like a lot to you, but it's been everything to me."

"You have. You have said it. And I'll be here for whatever you need."

He tipped back the last of his drink and sat in the shadow and the purr of the Pacific until it was time to go surprise Alexis, the warm L.A. sun kissing sweetly at his face.

xxxx

Rick was greeted by the building's doorman as he entered the sleek and sophisticated lobby, his footsteps echoing between the walls of grey marble. The dark-suited, ornately-spectacled man scanned the day's visitor log and located Rick's name with a "yes, there you are," before directing him to the elevator and up to the fourth floor.

He rode up nervously- alone, thankfully- his left leg bouncing lightly as he watched the glow of the numbers climb toward his destination. His hand held tight to the small box hidden in his jacket pocket, a gift he'd brought with him for the occasion. It was his daughter's half-birthday, after all. He certainly wasn't going to arrive empty-handed.

The elevator doors slid open with a chime and he stepped out into the hallway in search of unit D. He turned the wrong way at first (_imagine that_, he thought) then reversed direction, standing before the intended door with a knot beginning to twist in his stomach. It was worry. It was excitement. It was disappointment in himself for not coming sooner.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, reaching, finally, for the buzzer to announce his uninvited arrival. All was still, at first, as he waited to be greeted by the beautiful face of his first ex-wife. And she was beautiful. He could never deny that. But then came the delicate voice from inside: "I've got it, Mom!"

Rick's throat went instantly dry with the realization that he was about to be face-to-face with his daughter for the first time in far too long. The lock snapped back and the door opened, and for an extended moment, time seemed to stop and stand still. He couldn't believe how different she looked, how grown up. She couldn't believe her father was standing at her door. And when that moment of suspended time came to an end, Alexis smiled, and Rick felt his lungs fill with air once more.

xxxx

He'd kept the leather writing journal from Kate under his palm the entire flight home. It had been his talisman on the trip, he was certain of it, the bearer of incredible riches well beyond anything money could ever buy. Kate had been with him the whole time, though she'd remained thousands of miles away. She'd told him everything would be okay, that it would all work out, and now, sitting in a cab from the airport on the way to her apartment to share it all with her, for the first time in a long time, he believed that.

Kate answered his knock, and he cradled her body against his in the entryway, his hands at her lower back, still holding tight to the journal. She smelled of fresh laundry and mint. How he'd missed that.

"I feel like I've been saying this too much lately, but I really missed you." He pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I missed you too. Come in here and tell me everything. I have wine opened, if you'd like some."

"I would, thanks." She tugged him inside by the upper arm and led him into the kitchen. "Did you have a good day today?"

"It was fine, yeah, uneventful," she answered as she poured him a glass, "but I want to hear about how you and Alexis left things. Tell me, tell me."

Rick smiled and nodded. "Give the woman what she wants. Yes, ma'am." He finally relinquished the journal to the kitchen counter and took the glass from her.

They sat close on the sofa, her knee touching his, his arm extended behind her along the pillows' edge. His fingers tickled along the back of her neck and she leaned into them ever so slightly, without true intention, yet seemingly without the ability to stop her body from wanting to be closer to his.

"She's coming home, Kate. When she's done with this semester of school, she's coming home." The joy in his voice was palpable but soft. "We talked a lot. Well, _she_ talked a lot and I did a lot of listening. And I heard everything she said and she wasn't wrong about any of it. We have things to work on. _I_ have things to work on." His head dropped as the lump in his throat began its journey upward. "I just want her to be happy again, Kate."

"I know you do," she said, lifting his chin with her fingertips. "And she knows that, too, even more so now. I'm really proud of you for doing this, Rick, for facing it, for having faith in her and in her love for you."

He leaned in, rested his forehead against hers, inhaled her sweet scent of mint. "I never could've done this without you. Any of this." He pulled back and kissed her lips gently. "I'm so grateful for whatever it was that brought you into my life. So damn grateful."

"If I remember correctly, it was the icicles starting to form in my nose, so we'll have to write Mother Nature a nice thank you card."

"Right, yeah. I wonder how much postage that requires."

They laughed together.

"Oh, and speaking of writing, hang on one second." He popped up off the sofa and headed back into the kitchen to grab the journal from the counter. "I wanted to share something else with you."

"The journal? Did you-"

Rick handed it to her and she drew her finger along its cover, admiring its artistry, once again. "Open it."

Kate flipped open the soft cover and the first page was covered with his words, and then the second and then the third and on and on. She finally stopped turning them over, looked up as his eyes watched her, his eyes filled with pride.

"I started a new story, Kate. Finally. While I was out there. It just- it just started to come out of me that first night, after I'd brought Alexis home. I have no idea if it's any good or not, but I don't think I care about that right now. To feel inspired enough to create something new is more than I ever could've hoped for before I left."

She closed the journal and pulled him in for a deep kiss. "This is amazing. A change of scenery. I'd hoped so much. Do I get to know what it's about or is it a big-time writer's secret?"

There was that irresistible lip bite of hers again.

"It's nothing like I've ever written before. It's about a father and a daughter finding their way together."

"Is it? I'm-"

"And," he interrupted, "about the uber-hot lawyer who loves the father and kisses him _a lot,_ and smells like mint and clean laundry, and has this incredible pair of red patent stilettos."

Her brow crinkled. "That sounds very…specific."

"Well, I've always been drawn to the details. You know, an observer by nature. Say, you're a lawyer, would you maybe want to help me out with some of the research?" He winked and grinned smugly.

"How about you take me to bed and read me what you have written so far. That'll make it easier for me to decide whether or not the project is worthy of my time and effort. I'm a very busy woman, you see."

She stood and turned for the bedroom. "Oh, and grab the wine, Writer," she called over her shoulder as she moved away.

"Yes, Counselor. No objections here."

xxxx

**Note**: Thank you, readers, for indulging my whims.


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